


Libera te Tutemet ex Inferis

by cissamione



Series: Sanctimonia Vincet Semper [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: August - 1996, Azkaban, F/M, Love, Marriage, husband, wife - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:34:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissamione/pseuds/cissamione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius returns, broken, from Azkaban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Libera te Tutemet ex Inferis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deslea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deslea/gifts).
  * Inspired by [FIC + ART: The Substitute (Expanded Edition)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/483424) by [deslea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deslea/pseuds/deslea). 



> This title is Latin, and means 'free yourself from hell'.
> 
> This fic is a gift for deslea, who writes amazing stories, and creates brilliant art. It was inspired by what Lucius and Narcissa have in deslea's fic 'The Substitute'. Everyone should check out their work.

_Libera te tutemet ex inferis_

 

His sleek blond hair was dirty and tangled. His bright silver eyes were dulled. His strong shoulders were hunched. His lean body was emaciated. His powerful intellect was recoiling.

 He was Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. And he was broken.

 He stood in the entrance hall of his home, the Dark Lord had finished with him after his year-long stay in Azkaban and subsequent break-out. Bellatrix had tossed his wand and cane at him as he had bowed out of his dining room, where He held court. It had smacked him on his lowered head, and clattered to the floor. The mad witch had cackled crazily as he had bent further to collect it from his feet, but his weak hands had fumbled the dark wooden cane, and he had almost dropped it.

 Lucius took a shaky step forward, and thanked Merlin when his leg had not faltered and given way. He slowly made his way to the grand staircase, and took hold of the banister. He had not held onto the banister since he was four. He took each stair on at a time, landing both feet on each one before proceeding to the next.

 When he reached the landing, he hesitated. What if Narcissa would not receive him? He couldn’t go to Draco at this time of the night, and he had not slept anywhere other than in the master suite with his wife since their marriage. And in any case, most guest rooms were probably taken by his fellow Death Eaters. He shuddered at the thought of his wife surrounded by such unsavoury types while she slept.

 He made the decision to go into the library. It was likely that he would not sleep, and the library had good books and comfortable armchairs.

 His hand left the banister, and his other hand gripped the silver snake’s head of his cane, which was supporting his frail body. Every step was accompanied by the thud of the cane, muffled slightly by the thick carpet that ran the length of all of his hallways. It took him ten minutes to walk across the house to the library. Usually it would take two or three.

 By the time he reached the library’s double oak doors, he was exhausted. HIs legs shook and his hands trembled. He leant slowly against the door, using his underweight frame to push the heavy door open. He slipped in as soon as the door was opened, leaning against it again to close it.

 He slowly made his way through the long library, to the back where his favourite chair since childhood was. It looked out over Narcissa’s gardens, and he could often see her there, working magic on the plants. Once, on their twentieth wedding anniversary, in 1993, in November, she had shaped her garden into a daffodil-filled _I love you_ . When he had woken up the next day, it had all changed back to the usual twists and turns, which, when viewed from above, formed an intertwined _L_ and _N_.

When he finally reached his chair, he froze in shock. He could see a body curled in the chair. BUt that was not possible, because he had warded the small area against everyone but his wife and child, who were both sleeping in their rooms.

 “Excuse me?” His voice was dry and cracked from lack of use over the past year. The body in the chair stiffened, and a long few seconds passed. “This is my chair.” He realised belatedly that he sounded like a petulant child. He should care, but it was past two in the morning, and he had just returned from a year in Azkaban. He was allowed to want to sit in his chair.

 “Lucius?” The woman rose from the chair, and Lucius swore he felt his heart stop completely in his thin chest. “Is that really you?” She turned around, and Lucius saw his wife’s face for the first time in over a year.

 She ran to him, her blonde hair and her black silk and lace nightgown flying behind her. She stopped short of throwing herself into his arms, and as much as he wanted to, and he was sure she wanted him to, both knew that he could barely hold himself up, let alone the two of them.

 “Oh, Lucius,” Her soft hand cupped his stubble covered cheek, “Oh, my Lucius.” He looked at her, drinking in her pale, thin face, hollow cheeks, and the dark rings beneath her tear-filled blue eyes. “What have they _done_ to you, my love? My poor, beautiful love?” Several tears fell from her overflowing eyes. Her would never accept pity from anyone but her, never, but she was the perfect exception to that rule. Her pity was never meant to demean him and debase him, and it only ever came from love.

 “ _Narcissa_.” He whispered his name like a prayer, and she started sobbing, wrapping her arms around his malnourished body. He pulled her close, dropping his cane with a thunk to the wooden floor. “ _Narcissa, Narcissa._ ” He kept whispering her name, and she hugged him closer and closer.

 “Lucius, _my Lucius, my Lucius._ ” She too murmured his name like a prayer, and pressed herself against him, craving contact from the husband who hadn't touched her for a year.

 Neither could say how long they stood there in the library, clutching each other, and sighing each other’s names. Narcissa’s head was buried in his neck, and his in her hair, each breathing in the smell of the other. Neither noticed that Lucius still smelt of Azkaban, or that Narcissa’s ribs also protruded harshly. They only noticed that they were back in each other’s arms.

When Narcissa saw that Lucius’s shaking had increased, she helped him to his chair, and knelt next to him. She collected her wand from the window sill, and cast cleaning charms on her husband, and transfigured his stinking Azkaban robes into warm, dark green pyjamas. Then she rose to her knees, and kissed him tenderly. He kissed her back, pulling her close, and she clambered onto him lap, curling up with him. They kissed softly every minuted or two, but did not talk. Both knew that when the morning came, they would have to face the world, and right now, they just wanted to hold each other tight and never let the other go.


	2. Si Vis Amari, Ama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Si vis amari, ama.'  
> Another Latin quote. This one is thought to be from the Roman philosopher, Seneca, and is found in his sixth letter to Lucilius. It means 'If you want to be loved, love.'

_Si vis amari, ama._

 

“UP! GET UP!” Bellatrix screeched as she swirled into Malfoy Manor’s master suite. She visibly deflated when she saw that the large room was empty, and the bed had not been slept in. The only sign of inhabitancy was Narcissa’s robes draped over the back of an ornate, plush chair. She whipped her wand from her holster on her hip, and laid it flat in her hand.

 “Point me, Lucius.” She muttered the spell, and cackled as the wand spun for point towards the library. She skipped from the room, her boots clacking along the hallways, the metal studs in the soles ringing out as they collided with the wooden floorboards.

 She reached the library, and wordlessly cast a silencing spell on boots, and continued skipping through the library, stopping again when she reached the far end where Narcissa and Lucius were curled up, asleep, in an armchair, the rising sun glinting off their silvery hair. She saw Lucius’s cane lying on the floor, and smirked as she picked it up, twirling it like a baton for a moment.

 She tiptoed right up behind them, drew in a deep breath, and screamed. “GET UP!”

 Lucius jumped from his seat, catching Narcissa before she fell and spinning her behind him, one arm pinning her to his back and the other whipping Narcissa’s wand from the table, and directing it at his sister-in-law. His silver eyes were wide with terror and shock.

 “Lucius,” Narcissa’s voice came from behind Lucius, “Darling, it’s just Bella, only Bella.” Her arm slipped around her husband’s thin waist, and he relaxed as she caressed him.

 “Bella.” He spoke curtly as he let Narcissa step out from behind him. He was still clutching her hand. Bellatrix noted this weakness, and her black-lidded dark eyes glinted.

 “The Dark Lord requires you, Lucius.” She spoke his name with as close to love as she could, with no regard to the fact that she was married, and Rodolphus was probably in the house. “I suppose Cissy will try to make me give you this.” She handed over his wand and cane with the air of a petulant child.

 Lucius took his wand. “Yes, Bella. I will go.” Only Narcissa could see the terror in his eyes. She gently pulled her wand from his his shaking hand, and, with a flick, transfigured his green flannel pyjamas into a set of smart black, silver embroidered robe, which resembled his favourites. SHe smiled a tender smile at her as she cast some cleaning and hygiene charms, before squeezing his hand and detaching herself from him. At once he felt cast adrift, as if he was in space and his tether cut, and in the deep sea without oxygen.

 Narcissa reached up and stroked her husband’s cheek, which was cleanly shaven, and rose onto her toes, her hand twining in his hair, pulling his head down to meet hers. She kissed him so tenderly it felt as if his heart was shattering and healing at the same time.

 “Come to me when you are done, my love.” She breathed her words in his ear. He nodded, and followed the skipping Bellatrix, leaning heavily on his cane.

 After half an hour, Narcissa went to their bedroom. After one hour she threw the Daily Prophet in the fireplace and incinerated it. After an hour and a half she was sitting in the centre of their large bed, her knees hugged to her chest, and tears falling faster and faster. After two hours she was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

 Narcissa stopped dead, mid-stride, when she heard the rhythmic thud of Lucius’s cane. She rushed to her vanity, using her wand to fix her hair into a smooth twist, and to erase the dried tear-tracks from her face. She picked up her favourite red lipstick from the table, and applied it with an experienced hand. She ran black eyeliner along the edges of her eyelids, which she followed up with a flick of mascara. Last was a swish of shimmery silver eyeshadow.

 She listened, and when she could tell that Lucius was nearing the door, she swept over, and opened it for him. His hand was outstretched towards the door handle, and he was bleeding from several cuts, one just past his hairline, staining his hair red, and one on his high cheekbones, dripping blood down his cheek, like gruesome tears.

 “ _Lucius._ ” She gasped as she flung the door wide, and wrapped her arms around him. It was clear that he was being supported by him cane, and his arm was shaking, his knuckles were white.

 She guided him to the bed, and he lay back with a gasp and a sigh. She rushed into their ensuite, and came back with a bowl of warm water, and a soft flannel. Narcissa set the bowl on the bedside table, and dipped the flannel in, wringing it out a little, and wiping the blood gently from his cheek. She parted his hair, and ran the flannel over the cut there. She opened the neck-high clasp on his robes, and saw another, deeper, gash on his protruding collarbone. She rinsed the flannel in the bowl , and cleaned that cut too.

 She gently stripped him of his bloody robes, and fetched his pyjamas from the dusty chest of drawers that hadn’t been opened in a year except for her pulling his shirts, that still smelled of him, to hold tight as she slept.

 She dressed him in his pyjamas, then rounded the bed, and grabbed a small bottle from her night stand. She sat by Lucius’s hip and opened the bottle. “This is going to sting a little, my love, I’m sorry.” Her husband gave a small nod, and murmured an affirmative noise at her words.

 Narcissa leaned over, one hand holding his hair away from the small wound, and the other hand dripping two drops of the Essence of Dittany on the cut. She watched as his skin sealed itself back together. Next she dripped some of the Essence of his cheekbone, then she pulled his unbuttoned shirt open, and dripped some of the potion down the length of the laceration. She watched again with vaguely fascinated eyes as the gash knitted itself back together, gripping Lucius’s hand as he gasped with pain.

 “I’m so sorry, my love. I hate hurting you.” She laid her head on the uninjured side of his chest.

 He hugged her close, and kissed her hair. “I don’t blame you at all. You are healing me, my beautiful wife. You always heal me.”

 “What was it this time? I know I shouldn’t ask, and you know that you don’t have to tell me.” Narcissa’s voice was quiet, she was used to her husband keeping thing from her when it came to the Dark Lord, and she supposed that this time would be no different.

 “The Cruciatus.” His voice was even quieter than hers. “I would take you away from here if I could, but I won’t risk Draco, and I know you wouldn’t either.”

 “We will stay until Draco returns, then we can go. Not to France, too close, too many people who could recognise us, not Russia or Bulgaria, they could give us up to The Dark Lord. Switzerland, maybe, or Austria. We never did visit Vienna, like we always said.” Narcissa’s eyes shone with hope.

“Wherever you want, my love, and whenever. But we mustn’t talk about it. It’s just not safe, not here.” Lucius’s fingers trailed up and down the side of her torso, his other hand buried in her hair. She had missed him, missed being held, and being loved, and being able to love.


	3. Familia Supra Omnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Familia supra omnia' means family above all.

_Familia supra omnia._

 

It was the morning of the 21st of June, and the Hogwarts Express would be pulling into Platform 9 ¾ at 6pm. Both Lucius and Narcissa were emotionally jumbled at the thought of their son coming home after his sixth year.

 Lucius had been out of Azkaban for almost a month. He was still incredibly weak, and malnourished. Narcissa kept him in their rooms, to preserve his dignity (he didn’t want people to see him as weak) and to ensure that she could continue to heal him, and to catch up on lost time.

 The couple had not discussed leaving since the morning after he returned, but there was a tacit agreement between them that if one said the word, they would take Draco and leave.

 A quarter of an hour before the Express was due, Lucius and Narcissa met in the Entrance Hall. Lucius was wearing his best robes, dark green, with silver stitching along the hems and the neckline. His hair was brushed, and tied back loosely with a leather cord. His face was full of sharp lines, too many for his wife’s liking, and his were faintly ringed with purple, displaying his recent battles with nightmares, and the ensuing insomnia.

 Narcissa’s eyes were similarly ringed, as she woke every time her husband did, and comforted him. She wore a black pencil skirt, with a emerald silk blouse, and lightweight silvery robes covering the muggle ensemble. Sh had on her trademark crimson lipstick, and her high cheekbones held a pink blush. Her blue eyes were rimmed with black eyeliner, flicking up at the edges, so that the witch’s eyes appeared much wider that they already were. She held a small black bag.

 She took her husband’s proffered arm, and he apparated them directly onto the platform. They were early, and stood together as the faint sound of the steam train grew steadily louder. When it finally pulled into the station, both Narcissa and Lucius were scanning the sea of students and parents for their tall blond son. He stepped off the train, and a large boy followed him, carrying two trunks. Crabbe or Goyle, Lucius tried to recall the boy’s name.

 Draco’s sidekick set down his trunk and left, not speaking, only grunting towards Draco and keeping his head bowed. Lucius took hold of his son’s trunk, but Narcissa’s slim hand on his forearm stopped him before he apparated them home.

 “No, Lucius.” She reached into her bag, and pulled out a painted wooden wizard. One of Draco’s from when he was a child. She placed her husband’s and son’s hands on the small toy, making sure that Draco held his trunk, and pulled out her wand. “ _Honeymoon._ ” She whispered, tapping the toy, and all three felt a strong tug from behind their nasals, and they were whipped away.

 They landed on flagstones, in a courtyard. Draco stumbled a little, but Lucius and Narcissa remained upright, though Lucius leaned heavily on his cane. “Mum, where are we?” He sounded confused, and scared.

 “We are in Vienna, my darling. This is an old Rosier family house. I inherited all the Rosier family holdings, through Mother, when cousin Evan died. I thought a Black house would not be safe, as Bella made me give it all up to her last year. She forgot about my inheritance though, everyone did.” Narcissa had obviously been think about and planning their escape for a while.

 “You are simply brilliant, my love.” Lucius kissed his wife, and Draco studied the cobbles. When his father pulled away from his mother, she led them inside.

 “But, why, Mother? Why did we leave?” Draco questioned Narcissa.

 “England is not safe for us anymore. Especially since you could not complete the Dark Lord’s task.” She grimaced. “He would’ve wanted you dead just for that, as a further punishment for your father for failing his mission at the Ministry. He _chose_ to let Lucius _rot_ in Azkaban, and he threatened _you_ , my beautiful boy. I will not stand for that. Never.” Narcissa’s shoulders were thrown back, and her head held high.

 “Zibby, come here.” Narcissa raised her voice a little, and a small female house elf appeared in front of her with a crack. The elf, apparently named Zibby, was wearing a little pink checked tablecloth, wrapped around and around her body like a sari.

 “Yes, Mistress? How can Zibby help Mistress?” Zibby bowed low as she spoke and did not rise until Narcissa spoke again.

 “You are not to tell anyone of our arrival here, or that we are here at all. You shall not leave the house, or communicate with anyone except myself, my husband, or our son unless one of us expressly commands it. You will obey orders from my husband and son unless they directly contradict my own. Do you understand?” Narcissa’s tone was not cruel, rather, kind and forgiving, but it still held a commanding force.

 “Of course Mistress. Zibby understands.” The elf bowed again. “Zibby is asking which rooms Mistress and Master, and young Master Draco will be asleeping in?”

 “We will have the Master suite, and Draco the next largest, please Zibby, so long as they are close.” Narcissa smiled gently at the elf.

 “Yes, Mistress. Zibby be doing as you be commanding, Mistress.” Zibby placed a hand on Draco’s trunk, and both disappeared with a crack.

***

Half an hour later, the three blonds were sitting in the sitting room connected to the Master suite and drinking steaming Viennese coffee and nibbling on rich slices of Sachertorte. Lucius was slumped on the rose silk _chaise longue_ and Narcissa was sitting next to him, her legs tucked up under her body, her head resting on his shoulder. Draco sat, his back stiff, on a matching rose silk armchair, his posture displaying his discomfort, not at his parents’ overt affection, but at his family feeling the need to escape.

 Draco had believed his father to be absolutely loyal to the Dark Lord, and his mother to be as idealistic as any Death Eater, just not the dueling, fighting type of woman, unlike his Aunt Bella. His world had been turned topsy-turvy in an afternoon. Suddenly Narcissa sat up, and rose to her feet. She walked over to the ornate fireplace, fiddling with the ornaments on the mantel. “We shall stay here for a week.” Draco noted that his father had not been told of the explicit plan, but seemed to agree with everything she said. “From here, we will go cross into the Hungarian border city of Sopron. We shall stay there as long as we need, or want. We also have old Black, Rosier, and Malfoy houses in Croatia, Sweden, Greece, and Denmark. We shall stay in each place as long as possible, and _hope_ that Potter can finish the Dark Lord.”

 Narcissa grabbed her little bag from the table, and reached in. She pulled out three wands. She gave a medium length wand to her son. “This belonged to the first Sirius Black, my great-great-grandfather’s elder brother. He died when he was eight, but he had his wand. It is Hawthorn, like your old one, but it is dragon heartstring.”

 Next she handed her husband a long, dark wand, and he took it in his thin hands, appraising it. “Blackthorn?” Narcissa nodded. “And… phoenix feather?” Lucius sounded surprised as Narcissa nodded again.

 “That one belonged to my great-great-uncle Arcturus. He married Lysandra Yaxley.” Lucius nodded at Narcissa’s statement.

 Lucius smiled as Narcissa replied, “And their daughters married a Longbottom and a Weasley.”

 “Yes, and the third daughter married a Crouch.” The couple shared a smile at their knowledge.

 “So who owned yours, Mother?” Draco finally spoke up.

 Narcissa turned towards her son. “Mine was my Aunt Cassiopeia’s. She died in ‘92. She was more of a mother to me than my own mother.” Lucius reached up and took Narcissa’s hand in his own, rubbing circles with his thumb. “ Unicorn tail hair and Rowan.”

 Narcissa sat down again. “Draco, you must understand that our old wands probably have traces and tracking spells on them. We must _never_ use them, and we will have to leave them here, in Zibby’s care. We _must_ ensure our safety.”

“I understand, Mother.” Draco smiled at his mother. He had always been his mother’s little boy, Lucius mused. He hoped that it would never change, like it had with him and his mother. He beckoned his son over, and drew him into a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter, so I hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
